


Pussy Lover

by LazyBaker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Traits, Anthropomorphic, Dog Steve Harrington, Lion Billy Hargrove, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: "Heard you turned bitch for a cat, Harrington."
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 35
Kudos: 222





	Pussy Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Awrble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awrble/gifts).



For Steve, avoiding the end of the world means getting mauled by a rabid lion and skipping the next couple schooldays as a sort of _you did good_ gift to himself.

Steve’s got this nice set up going at his house. Big TV. Cable. VCR. A freezer full of his favorite ice cream - mint chocolate chip. The house to himself since his parents won’t be home until the middle of December. The perks of dipping his toes into the feline dating pool for a year means his entire pack’s fucked off so Tommy and Carol aren’t gonna be stopping by to stumble on a shiny new rumor to spread and create _more_ problems for Steve.

Getting his face clawed open is _enough_.

Pissing off the asshole lion who just transferred to Hawkins High and has made it _crystal clear_ from day one he has more than a couple _issues_ when it comes to Steve is also _more than enough_.

Steve’s plate is full. It’s painful. It’s gonna leave a couple scars and his fur _might not grow back_. Steve’s gonna take a couple days to kick his feet up and do jackshit. There’s a new episode of _The A-Team_ and nothing gets Steve grooving like watching Mr. T jump out of that van. His tail becomes a damn helicopter rotor.

Steve’s enthusiastic about embracing his new lone wolf lifestyle. No girlfriend. No friends. Nerds are doing whatever nerds do after they _conquer evil_ —Dustin’s words. Steve just nodded along and went with it. That’s Steve’s thing.

A little bit of permanent scarring isn’t going to ruin Steve’s new outlook on life. Not even the fact that he _knows_ when his mom sees him and his new flashy scars she’ll be bemoaning and mourning over his old Best in Show awards from when he was a pup. The new Steve is happily dragging the TV set with the antennas upstairs onto the bathroom vanity and taking a bath for three hours and eating an entire tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream and all this is _perfectly_ acceptable and, actually, encouraged.

Steve’s hellbent on doing squat for the rest of the week. Maybe next week too. He might retire. He’s had enough stress in the last few days to turn his fur grey. That’s that. Fuck Billy. Fuck the government. Fuck Jonathan Byers. Fuck gross-ass demodogs.

Steve Harrington is officially _done_. Single. Tired. Done.

Except Billy Hargrove’s the biggest, newest douchebag in Hawkins who doesn’t know when to quit.

It’s two in the afternoon. Steve’s just added more bubbles to his _very_ nice bath—a _jacuzzi_ bath. The _best_ kind of bath.

Billy’s been hammering at Steve’s front door for ten minutes.

Parked his car _on the lawn_.

Even laid on the horn until Steve’s ears laid flat.

Steve had tried to block him out by dunking his head underwater. If he could hold his breath for more than a minute he might have held out and let Billy tire himself out.

Chances are that would take _a couple days_ and Steve’s head was in pain _now_ and Billy was being annoying _right now_.

Steve wraps himself up in his mom’s pale pink bathrobe and trudges downstairs with his tail trailing water behind him. Pausing at the front door, he and Billy making eye contact through the window pane—Billy about to bust a vein with his fist raised to knock _again_ and Steve slumping, a tired dog with nothing to lose, but a couple more points in the looks department.

Steve shakes his head dry, his ears flicking water off of them, making a mess of the foyer’s hardwood, and opens the door with the loudest and most drawn out sigh he can manage. Throws his head back and everything. Drags it out just to make Billy wait and to watch him get even more red in the face. His short, chubby ears twitch.

Out of the corner of Steve’s eye, Billy’s slim tail flicks, annoyed. Ready to throw down. Probably used one of those knife sharpeners for his nails before he drove here.

The first thing Billy ever said to Steve was, _heard you turned bitch for a cat, Harrington_ and that was _after_ the stare down at Tina’s that Steve only remembers _so vividly_ because Nancy had to take his heart and shred it into the tiniest bits with her cute little claws that make Billy’s look _monstrous_. Like, _jesus christ,_ those things are _huge_.

It’s only been a week since he met the guy and it’s been one disastrous slide downhill for the both of them.

Mostly Steve.

There’s no chance of this being a _friendly_ visit.

Billy tilts his chin up.

“Nice robe, Mrs. H. Can Steve come out to play?” Billy says.

“God, I don’t like you.”

Billy smiles, too toothy to be genuine. He’s just showing off his teeth. “I can almost see your ankles, you lil minx.”

“I’m kinda in the middle of something so if you could, like, go crash and burn in your dumb car? That’d be cool? Yeah? Go fuck off and die? Bye?” Steve suggests very kindly, hips cocked and on edge.

Billy’s in his space quick. Temper like a match. Has his hands on either side of the doorjamb, blocking the doorway, large nails sinking easily into the door and splintering the wood. He snarls at Steve. The scent of his sudden rage hits Steve and makes him want to bare his teeth right back at him, his instincts flaring up to punch this dumbass in the face _again_ and bite a chunk out of his oversized ego, but they’ve already done this dance and Steve’s had too much ice cream today to manage the footwork.

Billy takes in Steve’s face. Lingers. Goes still. Eyes widening. Winces.

Nail by nail, he loosens his grip on the door to cross his arms and stands on Steve’s doormat with this stupid little _pout_ , eyes going all over the place, looking at Steve and then glancing away only to come round back to him. Twitching. Fidgeting on Steve’s doorstep. _Quiet_.

It’s _weird_.

Steve’s just fought _literal monsters_ and Billy’s being _weirder_ than _that_.

He should probably just shut the door and pretend this didn’t happen.

Steve’s thrown in the towel.

“Hargrove?” Steve’s starting to grow unsettled. Can’t smell much on Billy except for whatever cologne he’s sprayed himself with and the general _stink_ he has on him underneath. Salty and warm.

Steve should’ve pulled on some drawers. Never answer the door in nothing but your fur and your mom’s _pink_ robe.

“You didn’t come here for a cup of sugar, did you?” Steve makes an outlandish guess.

“No, I didn’t come here for _sugar,_ Harrington. Idiot. _Here_.” He swings his messenger bag around and pulls out a stack of papers. Shoves them into Steve’s chest. There’s small holes in the sides of the papers from his nails punching through. “Homework. Enjoy.”

“Thank you?”

Billy grunts then shoulders past Steve and into the house.

“Excuse me - uh, no. _No._ What are you doing, asshole? This is trespassing.” Steve calls out to him. Throws the papers onto the small table by the door and they topple to the floor, getting wet from the puddles Steve’s dripping. Steve ignores this mess too and follows Billy into the kitchen.

“And _this_ , pretty boy, is my invitation.” Billy turns around, that quiet weirdness gone from the face of the _earth_ , replaced by his iconic wicked, sharp-toothed grin that’s part filthy promises and entirely douchey. He spins a blunt between his fingers and Steve can _smell_ the weed. It’s not the kind he’s used to.

“Brought it from California. I’ll let you take the first puff since, you know, you suck so hard and I feel bad for screwin’ that face up.”

Billy bites the end of the joint and flicks his lighter open and Steve, for a split second, can kind of see why everyone at school’s gone berserk for the guy.

Just for a second.

He’s still the worst.

They end up on the couch in the den, Steve on one end and Billy on the other—a safe distance—half the joint smoked away while they listen to Ziggy Stardust and don’t try to skin each other.

Billy tells him he’d skipped out during lunch. They share a couple of classes—English, History, P.E., there might be another one, a lot of things have been knocked out of Steve’s head. He’d been _forced_ to bring Steve his missed assignments and it’s not like he _wants_ to be here, but, _whatever_ , who wants to smoke _alone?_ and he knew Steve would just be pouting because _you’re such a little bitch, can’t even take a couple punches without going down_.

Steve’s sort of paying attention to what he’s saying, but the grass has him melting into the suede cushions and the bathrobe is _very_ soft and David Bowie’s singing to _his_ soul—mostly, though, he’s staring at the way the light filtering through the curtains hits Billy’s gold earring.

It’s, like, _so_ shiny.

“Did that hurt?” Steve’s reaching out, touching Billy’s ear before he even remembers he has hands and getting so close to a mouth filled with teeth like Billy’s isn’t the smartest move on his part considering.

Billy leans into the touch, though. He’s been smiling since the buzz hit him - and it’s _the nicest_ , warmest, fuzziest buzz Steve’s inhaled in a long time so he understands that smile and he might have the same one on right now too.

Billy leans his head back on the couch, cheek to the cushion, and Steve keeps touching his ear. “Did what hurt?”

“That. This—this thing. This guy. It’s so - who gets their ear pierced?” Steve scoots across the couch because he’s a moron with a death wish and pokes at the earring. Flicks it a little. Billy’s ear has some missing bits in it, like he got cut years ago. Billy’s ear twitches again and it’s sort of cute for a meathead lion like Billy so Steve pinches it just one more time.

“Haven’t you seen any chick? Literally any of’m?”

“Yeah, but you’re a dude. _A dude_ with an _earring_.”

Steve starts to giggle. Tail thumping against the couch and he’s too high to be embarrassed. Billy’s stupid. He’s a lion and lions are _stupid_. Meatheads with big curly manes and sharp claws and stupid dumb faces and weird blue eyes. Steve starts to really laugh and then the _really stupid_ pain and the itchy stretchy tug of the bandages wiggles its way through Steve’s happy high and has to take him down a couple pegs again.

Billy’s frowning. Lips pursing around the joint. It’s kind of a heartbreaking sight after all those nice fuzzy smiles that didn’t end with Steve’s head pinched between his incisors.

“That hurts a lot, doesn’t it?” Billy says.

“You ever get on the wrong side of an angry cat?”

Billy shrugs. Leans over to the album cover on the coffee table and stubs the joint out on David Bowie’s face.

“Like you didn’t deserve it.”

“I mean, I might have deserved it a little bit, I guess.” Steve shrugs. The truth’s far fetched and he’d rather leave that in the past along with his broken heart and his good looks.

“Just—don’t move. And shut up.” Billy tells him. Reaches out and Steve flinches back a second too late because Billy has the tail end of one of the bandages between his nails and half of it rips off with Steve’s sudden movement.

“Fuck!” Steve yelps, holds his hands up to his face, but Billy shushes him.

“I told you—don’t move, dumb dog.” Billy snarls at him. Neither of them move an inch for a minute, staring each other down and Steve’s stuck with this annoying looped thought of _what kind of lion has blue eyes_ and then Billy _gently_ peels the rest of the bandage off.

The fresh air feels good on the wounds.

Billy stares at him hard. Steve wants to run away. Maybe knock his head in.

“Fuck.” Billy says.

“Yeah. I own a couple mirrors.” He knows what he looks like now. He’s _aware_.

Billy cups Steve’s chin, then his hands are on the base of Steve’s neck, holding him, and he’s leaning in so close, so slow, Steve’s got plenty of time to scurry out of the way, but—but he _doesn’t._ He’s frozen and curious and balls to the walls high off his ass and he sits and waits for Billy to do whatever he’s gonna do.

“Shut up.” Billy whispers preemptively an inch from Steve.

Steve makes a face and that face _hurts_ when he mutters, _but I didn’t even say anything_ just as Billy’s tongue is out and he’s licking at the still open lashes he’s left on Steve.

No one’s _licked_ him since he was a pup and that was _his mom_ and it was, like, a handful of times and only when he was bawling his eyes out from some scrape.

Nancy did it once. But that was— _this is_ —different.

“What are you—what?” Steve’s slow on catching up. Slow with everything. He’d be kicked out of school if it wasn’t for his parents and their _generous donations_ to the community. Steve’s been skating by since _forever_ when it became real obvious that being a purebred doesn’t exactly mean being _smart_.

Steve’s confused and Billy’s hot on top of him, pushing him into the couch.

Billy licks fat lines up Steve’s face, over his nose, his eyes, his chin, and cheeks. Steve’s entire face is lapped up and left wet with Billy’s spit and Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Has them gripping useless at the air. If he should stop it. If Billy’s breathing this hard because of the west coast weed or _something else_.

Steve’s chest pounds. The same it did last night when he’d faced down those things from the Upside Down, when he’d walked down the Byers’ driveway to lose a fight to a fucking _lion_.

“Stop wiggling around. I’m trying to help, dumb dog.” Billy growls at him too soft to be threatening, grabs Steve by his ears to hold him still and Steve gasps out, struck with heat, and Billy licks over his lips along the trail he’d left and into Steve’s mouth, their tongues touch, slip together easy. It’s not some old fashioned home remedy a mom does for their kid. This is _Billy Hargrove_ kissing him slick and wet and so damn hot and heavy on top of him.

Steve, as slow as he can be and as high in the clouds as he is with adrenaline rushing through him fast, figures out what to do with his hands. He twists his fingers in those curls and tugs.

And Steve kisses Billy back.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in how Steve and Billy may look, check out 'Blacksad comic by Juanjo Guarnido' and you'll get the general idea~  
>   
> just a fun lil something that I may write more of (???)  
>   
> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


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